


Caveatelli

by Sora_Tayuya



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Captivity, Conditioning, Dark fic, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Imprisonment, Incestuous Undertones, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, None of these tags are good tags, Other, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Trauma, Yandere Papyrus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:57:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6828547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sora_Tayuya/pseuds/Sora_Tayuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans doesn't listen to warnings and pays the price</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Listen

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Regretti](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5581030) by [skeletonfricker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonfricker/pseuds/skeletonfricker). 



> This is easily the darkest fic I may ever write. I am so sorry. It was supposed to be darker...but I can't write bring myself to actually write anything that could escalate from this.
> 
> On a more interesting note, coming up with a title was fun: combining 'caveat' and 'cavatelli' was amusing.

The first thing Sans did was ensure his presence in town.

After staying on his best behavior all day, taking extra care to avoid sleeping on the job or cracking puns around Papyrus, Sans was able to snag a reasonably secure slot of time to slip away from his post while his brother visited Undyne for cooking lessons.

Papyrus had been his normal, cheery self all day. It was like nothing had occurred the night before. As tempting as it was to write off the frightening evening as a fluke, Sans wanted to be sure he had his bases covered. Just in case.

His brother’s remarks on the residents of Snowdin not paying mind to his potential absence was far too possible to ignore. What had occurred was…concerning on a deep level, but Sans didn’t think it warranted involving the Royal Guard or anyone of importance. If he was overreacting, he’d embarrass both himself and his brother. Mentioning anything to Undyne would get him laughed out of her house.

Plus she would tell Papyrus.

His brother could have been having a stressful, bad day. A really weird, bad day. Those happen.

But just in case, he didn’t want to end up in that position again. Especially for any length of time. So he had to make sure people would pay attention to the absence of one of the skeleton brothers if he disappeared for a number of days.

He wasn’t paranoid; he had excellent reason to check over his shoulder three times before entering the local restaurant and making his way up to his usual seat as quickly as possible. The sentry dogs weren’t in, and the few who were didn’t pay him any mind. He at once missed the normalcy a house greeting would have provided but was grateful he didn’t have to put up a mask for convenience. He didn’t think he could handle playing it cool in light of recent events.

Grillby noticed his twitchy hands and anxious smile, and graciously waited for Sans to form his words instead of plopping a bottle of ketchup in front of him.

“Hey, Grillby…we’ve known each other a while, eh?” The fire monster made no motion to confirm the skeleton’s statement, just continued polishing the glass in his hands.

“So…if I were to tell you something, you’d hear me out, right?“ Sans leaned over the counter slightly, right hand in his hoodie pocket, left tapping a rhythm into the counter. One of the flames crackled in acknowledgement.

“I guess…er, not sure how to put this…” Sans glanced over his shoulder with a wary look. Grillby’s hands slowed on the polished glass, patiently waiting for Sans to collect his thoughts.

“Eh, something…something’s come up. And well…” Sans leaned in. “My bro…well, recently…I don’t know how to put it. Just, if you, or anyone around town doesn’t see me for a while, just…it’s sorta weird to ask, but…” Sans gave him a strange look.

“You’d notice if I didn’t stop in for a while, right?” The bartender’s hands stilled, his glasses pointedly staring at Sans. A bead of sweat rolled down his face.

“Eh, it’s a bit hot in here. Sorry about…yeah, sorry. It’s weird. Just, don’t forget, okay? It might be nothing, but…just, keep an ear out, ‘kay?” Grillby eyed Sans for a moment, studying him. Slowly he nodded, and the forced smile on the skeleton’s face relaxed.

“I appreciate it, man. It’s probably nothing, but still.” His mouth twisted a bit at the edges, like a half-formed sentence was trying to escape, but decided against it at the last minute. Hopping off his stool, Sans made his way towards the door. Looking over his shoulder one last time, Sans gave the fire monster a brief wave, and exited the establishment. 

It was the first time in years Sans had shown up without ordering anything.

He wasn’t quite concerned, but filed away this odd encounter for future reference.

*******

Nearly two weeks passed before Sans was able to relax.

The skeleton put in more effort during those twelve days than he had the past several years of working several jobs in locations across the Underground. He got up relatively on time. Ate breakfast, went to his shifts. Followed Papyrus around when he was between shifts. Ate dinner at home. Watched TV with his brother, then tucked him into bed each night.

He had stopped eating at Grillby’s. Sans still made sure to visit whenever Papyrus was with Undyne, but only ever drank ketchup. He could stomach his brother’s food. He didn’t need his taste buds, after all.

If Papyrus smelled Grillby’s restaurant on his clothing, he didn’t mention it. He likely (hopefully) didn’t care since Sans was so willing to eat at home all of the time nowadays.

On the twelfth day after the spaghetti incident, Sans decided to venture back to the door in the woods. He had been skittish to go back right away after how venomously Papyrus had spoken, but he didn’t want to leave the poor lady alone for so long.

So he stopped by after one of his shifts when he knew Papyrus would be off re-calibrating his puzzles. The woman wasn’t there, but their schedules didn’t always match up anyway. He hoped she hadn’t given up on him after such an extended absence. 

When they first began cracking jokes at each other, Sans only visited the door a couple times a week. Once he discovered he had an audience, they had fallen into a daily schedule. He hoped she didn’t think he abandoned her.

He decided to try again tomorrow at a different time, and walked his way back through the snow to town. Maybe he would pick up some cinnamon bunnies for Papyrus. He’d like those after a-

Sans reacted to the movement before he saw it. Years of dodging practice kept his reflexes sharp even when his mind was distracted.

A bone had erupted from the ground right where he had been about to put his foot down.

It took a minute to process what that meant.

A minute was all Papyrus needed to bring up a tight circle of bones around his brother.

Completely surrounded by a wall of bones, Sans turned left and right in confusion and growing fear.

“Papyrus?!” His brother stepped into his line of sight, a hard look on his face as he eyed his prisoner.

“Oh Sans, what did I tell you about going back to that door?” Papyrus raised a hand, and smaller skeleton’s soul dinged blue. Sans’s eyes widened in disbelief and fear.

“I told you already, I don’t want you fraternizing with potentially dangerous people. I’m so disappointed in you, Sans.” The wall of bones vanished, and Sans was suddenly eight feet in the air.

“Pap- Papyrus, stop! This is-“

“For your own good.”

Sans slammed into the ground.

*******

Sans awoke to a house smelling like freshly cooked spaghetti, a pounding migraine, and the inability to move his limbs.

The worst part of all these facts was that he couldn’t decide which one frightened him the most.

Papyrus had knocked him out – again – and duct taped him to a chair – _again_. And Sans was legitimately worried. Worried of his brother.

He was still certain he could escape if his life was being threatened – _but this is_ Papyrus, _that would be ridiculous_ – but that would require scaring his brother – _maybe he needs to take a turn being the scared one_ – and Sans still was hesitant to resort to his trump card until he was certain he couldn’t talk Papyrus out of whatever funk he was in.

If he couldn’t be talked down, well…

…then he’d settle for reminding Papyrus who the older brother was.

*******

His brother was absent when he woke, and Sans took that time to find some weakness in his bindings (there wasn’t any) and think about what he was going to say when his brother did show up (quite a mouthful). He had just about worked out his spiel when Papyrus opened the bedroom door, giving a hearty knock before entering.

As if he respected boundaries or personal space.

“Oh! You’re already up. That is wonderful, this will make things a whole lot easier!” Sans faltered, his protests hindered by momentary confusion at his brother’s words. Papyrus never broke stride – he was standing over Sans with a few quick paces, just long enough for the shorter skeleton to register something in his hands.

“What is tha-?!” With an audible gasp, Sans’s voice was halted with a soft blue glow from the metal band around his neck, courtesy of Papyrus. Sans spoke, but nothing but air exited his teeth. He began to panic, looking from the band _collar_ to Papyrus in desperation, demanding an answer. Papyrus smiled broadly, sliding one hand over the top of Sans’s head in a motion meant to be soothing.

“It’s okay, Sans. It’s just something I picked up from Dr. Alphys a little while back to help you out with some things.” Sans’s eyes became pinpricks as he mouthed the word ‘ _why?_ ’ Papyrus was content to speak in lieu of his brother, answering his unspoken question.

“I know that our magic works a little differently, and I’ve been concerned for a while that you might lose control over it and hurt yourself, or get someone else hurt. And I don’t want you to have to go through life worrying about controlling your magic. So, I asked the nice doctor if she had anything for folks who were having trouble with excess magic – and she said she had these nice bands for monsters who were suffering from magic overload! They even come with silencers to spare their families from having to hear them yelling in pain; isn’t that great?”

Sans could only stare at Papyrus in mute horror. The irony didn’t escape him; he just couldn’t concentrate on anything outside of this developing madness his brother was assaulting him with. While Sans came back from his momentary exodus, it registered that Papyrus had continued speaking, unknowing (or uncaring) that his brother’s mind had wandered off.

“-plus this way I won’t have to hear your terrible puns all the time! Although, I think that last part is a bit more for me really. A little selfish I know, but you can’t blame me for wanting a bit of a rest from your constant jokes!” Papyrus grinned slyly to himself, puffing out his cheekbones like he was getting back at Sans for an annoying jibe. 

This was anything but funny, however.

Papyrus stopped smiling for a moment and looked at Sans tenderly. “Of course, I can’t just let you wander about outside without any magic to defend yourself – regardless of how much you like patrolling with me. That is something I waited so long to hear you say, brother! I can’t tell you how happy you made me when you said that.” Papyrus gave a heavy sigh, like he was delivering sad news.

“Alas, your behavior earlier today just shows I still can’t trust you on your own.” He beamed the brightest of smiles. “So I’ll just have to make sure you’re always safe and sound, at home! That way, I’ll know just where you are at all times.” Papyrus looked at him like he had just delivered fantastic news.

Sans’s eye-sockets went dark. Papyrus frowned, which morphed quickly into a pout.

“Now now Sans, don’t get that way. This is for your own good, you know.” Papyrus straightened up. “Not everybody is lucky enough to have such a considerate, caring brother as the Great Papyrus, nyeh heh heh!” Looking very proud of himself, Papyrus moved to exit the room. He turned at the doorway at the sound of the chair scraping the floor slightly. Papyrus looked back at his struggling brother, bound and muted, looking at him with unabated concentration…

…and smiled warmly.

“I love you, Sans.” The door closed and Sans’s world was steeped in darkness.

*******

Sans couldn’t tell how much time passed in the dark room, but he fell asleep three times before Papyrus returned again.

He couldn’t use his magic. He couldn’t teleport. He couldn’t speak. With his hands tied he had no method of communication aside from facial expressions.

He was so powerless it made him physically sick. While he generally considered himself powerless to affect the world at large, Sans had always figured he would be safe in Snowdin. In his own house. With Papyrus.

When his brother did return, however many hours or days later, he was his usual cheerful self. He talked about his day, who he saw and what he did. He talked about his puzzles, mentioned the continued lack of humans, and went on brief tirade about a small white dog that had been following him around, “eyeing him hungrily.”

Had Sans been able to respond to any of this, he might have made a joke or laughed. Or emoted at all.

But he didn’t, and Papyrus kept talking, standing tall over his brother and stooping down only to place his gloved hand on Sans’s skull in a peaceful gesture.

Sans glared at his brother the whole time, silently. He refused to react to anything being said; when Papyrus asked casually how spaghetti sounded for dinner that night (as if they had eaten anything _other_ than spaghetti for who knows how many weeks now), Sans refused to look at him.

Papyrus wasn’t bothered by his brother’s lack of response, continuing on as if he had given his approval. Then he exited out the door he came, closing and locking it behind him. Leaving Sans once again alone, in the darkness of his room.

He was going to get really tired of this treatment _really_ fast.

*******

As it turned out, he did get tired fast. Might have had something to do with the magic suppression of the metal around his cervical vertebrae, or it might have been the absolute lack of outside stimuli, but he didn’t really care.

He fell into routine quickly: maddeningly dull days spent in his dark room, sleeping off and on until Papyrus strode in to give him the daily report. Then dinner, hand fed by Papyrus, then story time, when his brother would read Sans something from his massive bookshelf “to help him sail into Snoozeville.”

It was a line he had been using on Papyrus since his brother had only come up to his shoulders. 

It didn't have the same charm coming from the taller sibling’s mouth.

This went on for four or five days until Papyrus deemed Sans capable of ‘not harming himself or others,’ and released him from the chair.

Sans hadn’t intended to try anything when Papyrus mentioned the evening before about releasing him. He hadn’t gotten his hopes up, but had at least expected to be able to leave the room, maybe getting a chance to run for help.

No such luck.

That morning Papyrus woke him up by entering his room; a length of chain coiled over one arm. Sans struggled against the chair then, the first time he had done so since initially waking up in that position.

Papyrus scolded him and told him to sit still, then fastened a clip on one end of the chain to the collar, and unrolled the grey links until they stretched taut to the wall. There he smoothly attached a metal plate halfway up the wall and connected the end of the chain to it, securing his brother to the room.

When Papyrus undid the bindings Sans lunged at him.

The taller brother merely stepped back a stride and watched as Sans jerked back from the recoil of his neck staying in place as his body continued forward. The shorter skeleton clutched at his neck desperately, trying to find some weakness in the metal or chain. Sans tugged helplessly for a while, staying as far from the wall as possible while ignoring the taller skeleton, who silently watched him, a serene expression on his long face.

After watching Sans struggle for a few minutes against the restraint, Papyrus told him he’d let him settle down while he got dinner ready and exited before Sans could put up any further resistance.

The chain extended to the center of the room, allowing him access to roughly the entire right side of the bedroom. The treadmill had been pushed to the far left wall, and somehow his self-sustaining trash tornado had collapsed. Clearly before setting this up his brother had come in and cleaned the place, as there was a distinct lack of trash (or anything) on the floor, the matted sheets had been uncoiled and cleaned, spread evenly on the mattress, his wayward pillow placed on top.

If the situation hadn’t been what it was, he would have found it sweet that his brother cared enough to do all this work for him.

But things weren’t right; they weren’t _normal_ , and he couldn’t appreciate the small details in life right now.

Sans played with the chain for hours after Papyrus fed him dinner (he still insisted on fork-feeding him even when Sans had full use of his arms), even after ‘lights out.’ The metal was firm and didn’t budge anywhere, no weak links. The part attached to the wall should have been the weakest section, but he couldn’t so much as nudge the metal plate a millimeter.

Sans tried picking at the plaster wall until his phalanges chipped. He tried kicking the wall to break a hole or dislodge the screws, but he woke Papyrus up and received a thorough scolding before a thinly veiled threat to tie him up again if he didn’t behave.

The short skeleton continued to try and destroy the wall while Papyrus was out during the daytime, succeeding only in chipping his feet and hands until his brother noticed again several days later during a “weekly inspection.”

Still rendered mute, all Sans could do was put on his best venomous scowl when Papyrus scolded him for his actions. His glare paled, however, when his brother mentioned the possibility of removing his leg bones, “to prevent you from harming yourself like this any further.” He couldn’t stop the shaking that rattled his bones, shaking his head in a silent plea.

Sans was afraid of his brother then, and stopped picking at the wall. With everything else he had thought Papyrus incapable of, he wasn’t prepared to test him on this grossly deplorable act.

He was becoming genuinely afraid for his life, by this point. Or at least, for his future.

He wept that night, the first of many to come.

*******

Weeks passed, and no one came looking for him.

Papyrus mentioned it casually one day; how he had told the townsfolk and Undyne that his brother “didn’t feel well” and had been stuck in the house. The taller skeleton said how sweet it was that so many people offered condolences, or recommended recipes for him to try to make Sans feel better.

At Papyrus’s persuasion, Undyne “relieved Sans of his duties” as a sentry; from all of his positions across the Underground. After Sans had been missing from the public eye for so long, people grew used to his absence and stopped asking Papyrus when his brother was going to return.

Sans had always seemed a little tired. No one thought anything of it when he simply didn’t leave the house anymore. Folks respected his private life, not wanting to intrude on someone having a bad time who clearly wanted some space.

It was such a good thing he had a kind brother like Papyrus to take care of him, they said.

Sans resigned himself to his fate. There wasn’t anything he could do aside from act the part of the model prisoner: if he was good and behaved, Papyrus would tell him things and let him eat. When he was “moody” or acted up, fighting off his brother’s touches or throwing things across the room, Sans was left alone in the dark to “think about his actions.”

As complicated as his feelings for Papyrus now were, Sans hated being alone in the room.

For several weeks Papyrus didn’t leave him anything to do to pass the time; the lights were kept off during nighttime or when Sans was “bad” that day, so even if he had books he couldn’t read them. It took a long while of pleading hand motions to get his brother to keep the lights on during the day when he wasn’t visiting Sans; apparently Papyrus wanted to save electricity and expected Sans to sleep the day away while not in his presence.

In the past he wouldn’t have been wrong. Now, though…sleep was a curse.

All he could do was sleep to stave away the boredom. And often when he slept, he had nightmares that woke him up wailing silently. When there weren’t nightmares, Sans saw worse things: memories. Memories of his life before his brother’s break into insanity, when Sans went to Grillby’s and sold cheap hot dogs and watched the glowing stones in Waterfall.

Somehow, those dreams were worse than the nightmares anymore.

He had nothing to keep track of how many days this had gone on, but Sans was able to communicate through motioning with his arms some weeks in that he wanted something to do during his time alone.

At first Papyrus brought him puzzles, and only puzzles. When he saw that Sans went through the puzzles like clockwork, he let him have any of the books lying around the house, and several off his own bookshelf.

As the weeks rolled by, Sans began to run dry on reading material, and Papyrus started visiting the dump to find more things to entertain his captive brother.

Strangely, Sans was appreciative.

In recent years, he had lost interest in actively involving himself in life, resorting to habits and bad jokes to get by. He had stopped reading for fun, he had stopped using his magic, and he had stopped researching anything.

With nothing else to do and an unknown amount of time ahead, he admitted that getting back into the sciences wouldn’t hurt. So he began reading every textbook he could find.

Not that he would ever be able to put his knowledge to good use, at this rate, but still. He had to keep himself occupied somehow. And theoretical physics were a great way to distance yourself from a bleak situation. You could really get lost in a good, thick textbook.

After some gesturing, he convinced Papyrus to let him have pens and paper. While he had tried to do this at the start of his captivity in order to communicate, Papyrus made it clear that he didn’t care what Sans had to say. So now, even with the available writing materials, he didn’t bother. Papyrus wouldn’t read the words and see what Sans meant; Papyrus only cared about what he wanted to see.

Sans tried not to think about that very often.

With pens and paper came the ability to keep a steady count of the days. Sans had lost track of how long he had been locked in the room before receiving writing material, so he gave a rough estimate of 2-4 weeks. It was going on the tenth week of his captivity, and still nothing had changed.

No one had come looking for him, and Papyrus had no intentions of releasing him.

Against better judgment, sometimes Sans let himself think things weren’t so bad. He was in his house, his own room. He never was nagged to do chores anymore. He had three meals a day. Papyrus had even stopped working solely on spaghetti – now he was branching out to other forms of pasta, like linguini and tortellini. He didn’t have to go to work anymore. He had all the time in the world to get back into physics, and now he had time to look into other subjects as well. He was making a list of new jokes – several lists, in fact. Maybe he could write a book.

*******

 

Most nights Sans cried himself to sleep.

 

*******

The first time Papyrus kissed him, he didn’t think anything of it.

Skeleton kisses were not romantic – they were a learned gesture from other monsters that mostly conveyed a sense of familiarity and comfort between family members or partners.

Papyrus had been reading a story to him before bed, like he did every night now. Recently his brother had taken to maneuvering Sans into leaning against him, or sitting in his lap as he read; just to be sure the smaller skeleton was paying attention.

Sans often zoned out during this time; never enough to cause him to really fall asleep (Papyrus would get annoyed if he did), but the activity was for Papyrus’s sake more than his. The small skeleton’s mind often drifted during this time, not wishing to recall the specific bleakness of the role reversal.

So when Papyrus leaned down slightly and clacked his teeth against Sans’s skull, Sans didn’t react. He didn’t find it particularly meaningful; it was just something Papyrus did.

Sans took notice when his brother began repeating the action; when he began kissing him every night.

He finally reacted when Papyrus spoke softly after their nightly routine, many days after the first innocent kiss.

“Oh Sans…you’re so beautiful when you’re tired.”

Sans froze, a sharp chill running through his bones. He had been dozing off that night; too tired that day to really try thinking about much. But those words snapped his consciousness awake in a heartbeat.

Slowly, Sans turned his head to look up at his brother. Papyrus’s face fell over him, a dreamy smile in place, looking at his brother with a deep emotion in his eye sockets. It might have been the height difference, or the angle, or the lighting, but in that moment, Sans felt a new sort of dread creep over him.

Then it was gone: Papyrus smiled wider, his eyes closed, blocking Sans’s view of that strange look. His brother left the room for the evening and left Sans shivering in the darkness of his room, staring at the door.

He didn’t sleep that night.

*******

Sans began paying attention whenever his brother instigated contact now. He noticed how Papyrus’s hands would linger when patting his arm, how he would pull Sans close to him during story time. How much attention he gave to the top of his head, petting his skull, rubbing it soothingly, tilting his face up to meet the taller brother’s expression. He noticed how often Papyrus would set him on his lap, how he would always insist on picking him up and carrying him to the bed.

He noticed Papyrus’s lingering expressions whenever he entered or exited the room.

He noticed.

Sans had long given up trying to stop Papyrus from doing anything to him; it wasn’t worth the effort, and whatever he did would only irritate his brother and lose him reading and writing privileges.

So Sans didn’t try to fight the touches. He showed discomfort through fidgeting when settled in Papyrus’s lap for too long, turning his head away when directed to look at his brother. All he could do was deny his brother the one thing he seemed to want: Sans’s attention.

It wasn’t enough to stop his brother from doing anything, but Sans knew he couldn’t prevent anything regardless.

He was powerless to resist whatever Papyrus wanted.

Just as he always had been.

*******

One day Sans woke up sans his hoodie. 

And his shirt.

He was tucked under the covers; clearly Papyrus had been in and taken them, then had tucked him back into bed.

The clothing was a comfort to Sans; without the extra padding to shield him, he felt barren, exposed.

Vulnerable.

When his brother entered the room that day, Sans tried to gesture to his chest, to see if his brother had simply taken them to be washed.

Papyrus beat him to it.

“Oh, are you cold, brother? I know you like that old jacket of yours, so I took it to be washed for you. It isn’t right for you to sleep in your clothes like this, though, so why don’t you be sure to get into sleepwear before bedtime from now on, alright? I don’t want your dependence on that jacket to give you slovenly habits.”

After a few months of captivity and figuring out the subtle meanings behind Papyrus’s innocent sayings, Sans realized what his brother meant. If he didn’t follow his brother’s unofficial orders, he wouldn’t see his hoodie again.

He would have to undress each evening before getting into bed. In front of his brother, who was ever there.

His face sagged. Papyrus noticed with mild concern.

“Oh, don’t worry, brother! Your jacket will be dry in a few hours! It’ll be good as new, don’t worry!” Papyrus smiled again, a ray of sunshine shooting towards Sans’s gloom. “You don’t need to wear that jacket _and_ a shirt, though, so I’ll just fold it and put it away for you. We don’t need your shirts to get all stained and wrinkly, now do we?”

*******

Sure enough, nighttime came and Papyrus watched silently, expectedly, as Sans shed his treasured blue hoodie, folding it over one arm like Papyrus had asked, and setting it to the side of the bed.

The tall skeleton’s gaze lingered on Sans’s barren ribs. Sans felt his eyes taking him in, and shied away, an uncomfortable modesty overtaking him. He didn’t appreciate being looked at the way his brother was eyeing him: a pinned butterfly under glass.

Eyes downcast to the side of the bed, Sans stood there, awkwardly, as the minutes ticked by and Papyrus had yet to move over towards him. Papyrus was supposed to pick him up at this point, set him on the bed, collect the evening book, set Sans on his lap (or lean him against his chest plate, arm wrapped around him to hold him firmly in place), and read.

Papyrus just stood there. Staring at his small form. An embarrassed flush of blue magic flushed under his eyes against his will. He kept his eyes downcast and away from his brother. He wanted Papyrus to do something, to act normally.

But normal was so relative these days.

After many awkward minutes, Papyrus finally walked towards him, placing a skeletal hand on his sibling’s collarbone. Sans refused to look up at his brother. He didn’t want to see the expression he had on his face. He didn’t want to see what look he had in his eyes.

Papyrus read the story, but Sans didn’t hear the words. All he could hear was the small phrase uttered so many weeks ago, breathlessly: _You’re beautiful_.

Sans didn’t move when Papyrus tucked him in that night. He didn’t meet his eyes when the top of his skull was kissed. He didn’t look at his brother when his form lingered for just a little too long by his bedside before exiting the room.

He didn’t want to think anymore. He was so tired of thinking.

*******

One evening Papyrus didn’t leave.

He sat there, cradling Sans between his femurs, lightly stroking his brother’s skull, and let a hand ghost the smaller’s ribs.

Sans didn’t protest, because of course he didn’t. There wasn’t a point. His comfort had never mattered.

Then Papyrus told him he was going to have a ‘sleepover’ with him that evening.

So the taller brother leaned back on the mattress, holding the smaller form tenderly, and wrapped his long arms around his brother, fastening him to his bare chest. Sans waited for his brother to drift asleep. As Papyrus’s breathing steadied, Sans shifted to escape the cage of arms locking him in place, and sat up, looking down at his brother for the first time in months.

Other than lacking a pajama top, he looked just like he always did, so innocent and downright _normal_.

Sans hated it.

But he knew if his brother woke up the next morning and found Sans in the corner of the room, avoiding him…

So Sans settled back down against his brother’s bare ribs.

It didn’t matter anymore.

Nothing mattered.

*******

The ‘sleepovers’ quickly became a nightly occurrence. Papyrus even voiced aloud one day that he was considering moving Sans to his room. Or vice versa.

Sans didn’t care. Papyrus would do whatever he wanted; Sans wouldn’t have a say. And he wouldn’t have a chance at freedom. He probably never would.

His brother eventually decided it would be too bothersome to move all of his stuff into Sans’s room, and that Sans “wouldn’t be as comfortable” in Papyrus’s room. Apparently to Papyrus, Sans’s room was his “safe space.”

How ironic.

So he compromised: he moved his bookshelf into Sans’s room, removing the unused treadmill in the process to fill the far wall with the books Sans liked. While they were now out of his reach, anything he was currently working on or intended to start still stacked in the corner within length of the chain.

Papyrus converted his own bedroom into a pseudo guest-computer room (though he rarely used Undernet anymore except to look up recipes and they never had any guests) and took up permanent residence in Sans’s room.

Now, Papyrus said, Sans wouldn’t be as lonely. He could spend more time with his brother than ever before! He should have thought of this a lot sooner, he said, pleased with himself as he rubbed Sans’s spine one evening. Everything is working out.

Sans leaned into his brother’s ribcage limply, allowing the unwanted ministrations.

Sometimes, when he was able to distance himself from reality (which was happening more and more), he could pretend this was all just a bad dream. He could lose himself in the pleasant motions, and just…not be there for a while.

Sans found he preferred those moments to his waking hours. As long as he wasn't thinking about it, things were better for him. Things were always better when he just wasn’t thinking.


	2. Still There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus isn't there

One day Papyrus didn’t come back.

He was the most punctual monster Sans knew _he was the only monster Sans knew_ , so this sudden break in the clockwork schedule was enough to shake the small skeleton out of his perpetual stupor.

His brother hadn’t come back for lunch.

He didn’t come back for dinner.

He spent his first night alone in months.

The amount of trepidation he felt over the absence of his brother’s near-constant presence was alarming, but that wasn’t the focus of his attention for now.

…had something happened to him?

Regardless of what his brother had done to him, regardless of what he had been reduced to, a captive in his own home, a shut-in concealed from the world…

…it was still his brother out there. Alone.

…goddangit Papyrus.

*******

Sans was chained to the room. He couldn’t leave to search for his brother. He had exhausted all attempts at escape and didn’t bother considering new ones. Nothing had changed.

The chain was secure. The door was locked. All potentially ‘dangerous’ items were out of his reach, and he was never able to attempt anything on his own courtesy of Papyrus.

Except that Papyrus was gone.

What could he do now that Papyrus was gone?

It took him enough hours to consider it a day before he managed to move himself over to the wall where the metal plate had been screwed in so long ago. He stared at it, recalling the faint flecks of bone that fell before its steely might.

He scraped at it slowly until, for the first time, a piece of the wall flaked off rather than bone.

A feeling coiled within him, not quite a swirl. Was this…triumph? Satisfaction? It had been a while since he had felt anything that wasn’t physical. He’d have to re-discover his emotional spectrum. 

He felt giddy at the prospect of being able to re-discover anything.

As quickly as the thought formed, he shut it down. The whole reason he was doing this was because Papyrus wasn’t there. He needed to find out where his brother had gone.

_He was supposed to be here_

Papyrus was in trouble _danger_. He had to make sure his little brother was okay _safe_.

*******

There were grooves in the wall from his phalanges clawing at the plaster – he nearly hit wood when he heard it. 

The front door slamming.

Sans froze, caught in the motions of attempted escape.

The words his brother threatened so long ago echoed back hauntingly, _don’t make me remove your leg bones_. Oh god, he might remove his legs…or arms. No, no no no no-

Sudden footsteps running up the staircase _that’s too many footsteps for Papyrus_ shook him out of his growing panic.

Running? Papyrus doesn’t run. He bounds, he leaps, he takes huge strides-

_It isn’t Papyrus_

The realization occurred in the split moment before the figure outside the door reached for the doorknob.

If it wasn’t Papyrus who was inside the house…the person running…

…

… …

… … …someone came…?

The cogs that had sat dusty for so long creaked into slow motion as his thoughts caught up with the outside world. His mind was able to process this one, single, ancient hope as the door swung open…

 

 

 

 

 

 

…And he looked straight into the eyes of a human child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually typed this up about a week after I posted the whole thing. Wanted to wait until I had just a big long chapter, but...eh. I think I'll post a little bit as I feel like it.
> 
> I've got some more. I'll see when I feel like posting more.


	3. Found You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody came

He’s frozen. He hasn’t used that big brain of his in too long – too much is running through the space within his skull to form a coherent thought.

 _That isn’t Papyrus who is that that’s a human a child why nobody I know isn’t Papyrus not someone I know who is they aren’t from town not Papyrus why are they just staring not Papyrus_ not Papyrus

The child _striped shirt_ takes a step into the room. Their focus is on him. His body decides on a reaction – he takes a step back towards the bed.

His chain clinks in the thick silence.

His bed. His safe spot, the one place nothing bad can touch him _only Papyrus can touch him there_. He reaches behind with a shaky hand and clenches the sheets bunched at the bottom. A security blanket. The child watches him _studying_.

He’s identified another new _forgotten_ emotion: fear.

He’s feeling that one right now.

He wishes his brother hadn’t taken his blue hoodie from him those weeks _months_ ago. He feels so exposed under their intense gaze, with only a white tee shirt and black shorts covering his bones. He hated the way Papyrus looked at him too, but it was a different kind of hate _who knew there were so many different kinds_.

The silence would be awkward if he weren’t so petrified with uncertainty. His life had become so perfectly structured, so measured in the confined space, meticulously crafted around Papyrus’s schedule and organized so that nothing out of the usual could happen.

Nothing _new_ had happened in so long…

…he couldn’t remember how he was supposed to react anymore.

The staring contest goes on too long. It is the human who moves first, with the slightest of motions.

A smile blooms on their face.

“Sans…to think _this_ is what happens when I decide to stay in the Ruins.” He can see their teeth. Merry dimples have formed under their eyes. “That’s _hilarious_.”

If he had been outside of this room, if he had any access to outside stimuli, if his head were functioning correctly at the moment…he would have sworn that sounded familiar.

Familiarity that wasn’t his brother was _wrong_. He couldn’t remember _why_ , but anything that was this familiar that acted this way was _wrong_.

His bones shake, clacking against one another. He cannot stop the tremors. He doesn't entirely know why he wants to. The child looks even more pleased at his reaction, somehow. That smile would split their face if they tried to stretch it any wider.

“Oh Sans…” the kid takes another step towards him. He pushes himself onto the bed, scrambling backwards into the corner, eye sockets never leaving the human’s figure as the child advances slowly, step-by-step, as if not to spook him further.

It wasn’t working.

“To think all I had to do in order to win was have a little patience…” the human trails off. There is a tender note in their voice, standing by the bed, looking at him with a fond expression in their crimson eyes. “But even so…this feels like such a cheap victory.” The skin under their eyes crinkles as they narrow those eyes at him slightly.

Calculating.

He pushes himself into the corner of the wall as far as he could, hugging his pillow to his chest as a way of final comfort, a fluffy blockade between his chest and their presence.

They are going to kill him. He doesn’t know why, or how, or who they are, but they are going to kill him.

It was all about intent.

But the child does not go in for the kill. They continue to just stand there, observing the quivering, shaking ball of bones hunched over to make himself appear less threatening and smaller, squished as far as he could go into the corner of the room, arms wrapped around a pillow like a terrified child holds their stuffed bear.

The human looks at what Sans has become during their time away, as they spent days in the Ruins with Toriel, running amok and attempting to re-learn childhood for a few short months. Catching bugs and reading books about snails was more fun than they expected: trying something new, something _different_ was fantastic.

They realized Flowey must have been doing the same thing after saving and resetting time for so long – letting the timeline progress further than it had before in order to see what occurred naturally, what changed.

Well, perhaps like the flower, time had gotten away from them. They clearly had been away too long, they realize, if this is what would become of their long-time foe _friend_ down the road.

Clearly, he needs them.

Well…better late than never.

So with the most gleeful smile in their repertoire, Chara extends a hand to the shaking skeleton before them.

“Come on then, Sans. Let’s go somewhere fun.”


End file.
